


Need

by Midnight Mouse (jabraille)



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Alternate Universe, Consensual Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, Light Masochism, Light Sadism, M/M, Sexual Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-02
Updated: 2012-11-02
Packaged: 2017-11-17 14:14:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/552434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jabraille/pseuds/Midnight%20Mouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <cite>“How far do you want to take it?” he said in a hard, harsh voice.</cite>
  <br/>
  <cite>Wilson opened his hands. “As far as you’re willing,” he said simply.</cite>
</p><p> </p><p><span class="u">Quite</span> explicit. AU. I wrote this immediately after watching 3:06—as the "obvious" aftermath of the episode—with complete and utter disregard for the direction the show would actually take.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Need

“Why’d you do it?”

Wilson sighed benevolently at the case file he was amending. Right on time, as always.

“What makes you think I did anything?”

“I know you.” House shoved the sliding door in the general direction of ‘closed’ and clattered up to Wilson’s desk. “When the flatfoot finally got off my case, I knew you had something to do with it.”

“Fascinating. Something goes wrong, it’s my fault. Something goes right—lo and behold, it’s _still_ my fault!” Wilson tapped his chin with the pen thoughtfully. “Have you ever considered coming into my office through the front door?”

House’s hands slammed onto the desk. “You won’t want me to miss out on some valuable exercise, would you, doc?” he mocked. “Can’t you see I’m not ready for the big-kids door yet?”

Wilson snorted. There wasn’t much to be said to the man, except for the occasional witty endcap to a particularly lurid comment. That was the fun of it: to sit in far right field for hours just to catch that one wild hit.

“But enough about me.” House leaned over and put his face almost against Wilson’s. “I really want to know about you. Do you like Italian food? Bluegrass? Or just codependent wives and near-constant abuse?”

“Studies of abuse victims have shown that the abused often becomes dependent on the abuser,” offered Wilson, arching his brows. “Maybe I need you.”

The silence that followed his statement made him nervous. He sat back in his chair, trying to look relaxed, to anticipate the comeback. When none came for a spell—when House turned away and stumped towards the door—the _front_ door—

“House.”

“Sorry,” House grunted. “I’m late for my hooker.”

“ _Greg_.”

The crippled doctor stopped with his hand on the knob. “Ooh, first names!” he simpered. “Maybe we’re ready to take our relationship to the next level!”

Wilson could not bring himself to speak. After a desperately long moment, House turned around. His look was intense, incisive.

“You don’t want me to go,” he observed neutrally. “And you don’t have anything to tell me, or you would’ve sighed and looked awkward.” He paused. “That’s interesting.”

A smile was safe. “So long as it’s interesting...”

House was silent a moment. Then, in his strange two-and-a-half-legged stride, he crossed to Wilson’s desk.

“Why,” he said slowly, “exactly, would you want me to stay?”

Wilson tilted back his head and looked him square in the eye. It was a difficult attitude to maintain.

“Maybe I need you,” he repeated softly.

House’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t need me,” he argued, leaning hard against the desk. “I’m not needy and dependent. I don’t want anything from you.”

“Except the pills,” Wilson interposed, letting a smile flicker across his face. “And my attention. And, on occasion, an honest opinion that you can later grossly misrepresent.”

“I can get all that from Cuddy.”

“Yes, but Cuddy doesn’t enjoy it.”

House blinked. “You enjoy this?”

Wilson rested his arms on the desk and let his head fall across them.

“Come on, Jimmy.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“ _Wilson_.”

“Say it again.” Wilson glanced up at his strangely-angled view of House. “The way you say it when you’re angry with me for no reason at all.”

They regarded each other for a long moment.

Then House grinned.

“You really _do_ like it,” he said gloatingly. “Being abused, humiliated, then tossed aside—you _like_ it.”

Wilson saw no point in replying.

“But you could pick up twenty girls who’d waste your money and break your heart, down at any singles bar.” His hand on the cane was very pale, though Wilson detected no change in his face. “Yet you’re looking for a very specific type of abuse—the kind I give you.”

Still no point.

“So, either you just can’t get enough of my biting sarcasm... or...” House scratched his head absently. “...actually, I can’t think of anything else.”

“Bravo,” Wilson murmured.

The silence that followed was abruptly broken by the phone ringing. Wilson’s brain was still spinning as he snatched up the receiver. “Hello? ... Yes. ... No. ... I’m sure he’s fine. ... Because otherwise we’d have a complaint from a nurse by now. ... Sure, I’ll tell him. ... No problem. Good night.”

He carefully replaced the receiver. “Cuddy. She says not to leave your bike in the garage if you decide to take a taxi.”

House’s eyebrows ascended almost to his hairline.

“Lying to Cuddy,” he said. “ _Very_ interesting.”

“I didn’t lie.”

“She asked you if you’d seen me... You said no, and unless you’ve gone blind since lunch I can’t imagine how that could be true.”

“I’ll bet you could,” Wilson said. He let the smile stay. “I doubt your imagination follows the rules any more than you do.”

“Hey, that’s libel!” whined House, pouting exaggeratedly.

Wilson just looked at him.

House looked back, first sulkily, then with half-lidded eyes and a solemn set to his face.

“You need me.”

“Yes.” He thought that he should be blushing or stammering, but it was just nice to say the words. “I need you.”

“But you need me... as I am.” House perched on the desk and twirled his cane idly. “Mean, bitter, dark, abrasive, abusive. No ‘getting in touch with your feminine side’. Just the most hated doctor in the hospital.”

“Yeah.”

House gripped the cane again with bloodless fingers. Wilson looked sideways at him, trying to gauge his reaction, trying to see where his mind was going.

“How far?”

The question was so perfectly unexpected that Wilson hardly understood it.

House sighed, exasperated as always. “How far do you want to take it?” he said in a hard, harsh voice.

Wilson opened his hands. “As far as you’re willing,” he said simply.

Neither said anything for a few minutes afterwards. The phone rang once, but Wilson let it ring itself to voicemail.

Then House levered himself off the desk.

“You still have my house key?”

“Yeah.”

“Meet me there in an hour.” He caned towards the door—the balcony door—then turned his head over his shoulder and said: “Make sure Officer Pained-in-the-Ass doesn’t see you.”

Wilson nodded mutely as the door closed after him.

* * *

“Did he see you?”

“What? No!”

“You’re late.”

“I went home first.”

“To get your toothbrush?”

“So that, if he _did_ follow me,” Wilson endcapped, “he’d find out that Goldilocks went straight home, so he wouldn’t bother looking for her at the Three Bears’ house.”

House gave him a crooked smile. “Ooh, clever.” He gestured with his cane. “Someone wants to play Bad Doc, Good Doc.”

Wilson had half a reply ready when he was suddenly shoved against the wall, and House was kissing him hard, so hard that it hurt, and he was half-struggling but House had moved away from his mouth and was tearing open his shirt with both hands, leaning against him, the cane clattering across the floor, hot breath on his cheeks and neck and buttons clinked on the floor and the shirt was ruined but it was off and House’s fingers were digging into his shoulders with another flood of painful kisses

pants next, off in a flash, only one button but it joined the others on the floor, keys in the pocket jingling as pants hit floor

and House’s face twisted in agony and they were falling, falling to the floor together, and Wilson was under House and House was crushing him digging into shoulders back mouth hot on his nipples teeth clamping bruising but no blood and he was screaming, screaming Yes! Yes! in a voice that didn’t belong to him and House bared his teeth savagely and obeyed

House’s shirt was skewed but his pants were halfway off and just another tug stretch fingers grasp it was a difficult angle but there!

and House was pulling, grabbing, flipping them over so Wilson was on top and his bruised ribs cried out as he breathed but House forced him down and there was House’s cock pulsing purplish-red and he put his lips around it and traced the shaft with his tongue and House was gasping, crushing his shoulders with an iron grip but there could be more—he sucked and licked and put his hand to House’s testicles and worked them gently, moved his hand up and massaged the line of his pelvis and House was choking on gasping and his nails raked across Wilson’s back and Wilson’s cry of pleasured pain vibrated against House’s cock and they were crying out together

House was pushing him away no back forcing him onto his stomach head against the floor texture pressing his cheek and

the agony was immeasurable, the ecstasy was beyond immeasurable

House was in him and moving moving hurting him oh God the bloody perfection of it

he was crying and laughing and he wanted to hold onto something but there was nothing but the floor so his fingers scrabbled across it like drunken spiders

House was moaning

he was screaming

their voices clanged together

House came raking his fingers down bruised ribs furrows of pleasure in a sea of pain roaring through both of them

screaming

* * *

House leaned back against the wall, industriously re-buttoning his shirt.

“Well?” he queried disinterestedly.

Wilson’s mind was everywhere and nowhere. He’d somehow gotten into the ruined shirt, but the pants presented a slight problem—as he seemed to have lost all feeling in his legs, apart from a dull warm feeling like a sleeping limb before the stab of awakening.

“I...”

“Yeah.” House grabbed Wilson’s pants off the floor and tossed them over. “I’d say most of my questions were answered.”

Wilson crumpled the pants into a rough pillow and raised his head briefly to shove them beneath.

House retrieved his pants and pulled them on slowly, still on the floor until both legs were inside, then levering up carefully to finish. He gathered up a handful of Wilson’s shirt’s former buttons, snorted, then lobbed them against the front door. Clink-clink, clink, clink, a soft whir as one rolled across the hardwood floor, then a softer _clunk_ as it finally fell on its side.

“You should probably clean up,” he stated unnecessarily as he hobbled down the hall. “I think you left some clothes here.” He did not offer to look for them himself.

Wilson would have been disappointed if he had.

As he dragged his ravished body to the shower, Wilson heard the strains of a stringed instrument being played skillfully, passionately, tenderly. He waited a while for the music to stop before he turned on the pounding water to wash it all away.


End file.
